


if we kissed

by thomasjeffersonsmacaroni



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Drabble, M/M, NaNoWriMo 2016
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-23
Updated: 2016-11-23
Packaged: 2018-09-01 19:09:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8634553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thomasjeffersonsmacaroni/pseuds/thomasjeffersonsmacaroni
Summary: All we do is drive,All we do is think about the feelings that we hide,All we do is sit in silence waiting for a signSick and full of prideAll we do is drive-Drive, Halsey





	

**Author's Note:**

> Am I in the middle of NaNoWriMo? Yes.  
> Did I listen to "Drive" by Halsey and start having Jamilton feelings? Yes.  
> Did I whip up this drabble despite telling myself that I wouldn't write anything not NaNo-related until after the month was over? Yes.  
> Hope you enjoy!

_To: Thomas: Do you need me to pick you up again?_

_Thomas: yea_

_To: Thomas: Jfc stop getting drunk at the bar we're supposed to be enemies_

_To: Thomas: be right there in a few_

Alex put his phone down next to him, slumped against the back of his couch, and looked up at his ceiling with a sigh.  _Why is he like this?_ He had thought that he he hated him, and he  _had_ hated him. He couldn't keep this going, couldn't pick up his phone every time Jefferson texted saying that he had drowned in his cups at the pub, couldn't keep up whatever was happening right now.

But he did. God help him, every night, he did.

He put on a brown jacket, did his hair into a quick bun, grabbed his car keys, got into his car, and began to drive down the already familiar route. It was three in the morning, according to the clock right next to his steering wheel, 3:04 to be exact, but the neon signs everywhere and the headlights of the other cars glaring into his eyes that was typical of New York made it seem to his tired mind like it was only the late evening.

_3:04._ That was earlier than the night before, which had been 3:57, but later than the first night, which had been 2:35. The times that he had gotten the erratic, drunken texts varied from night to night over the course of the week, but they were always the same. Always in the middle of the night on a work day, when any sane person would be sleeping and preparing for an early rise the next morning.

But Alex wasn't a sane person; he was almost always up all night working on a project. And evidently, neither was Jefferson, because for the last six nights, he was getting drunk at the pub for reasons that Alex couldn't even begin to try to understand.

The pub was almost empty when he walked in, eyes immediately drifting to his sworn enemy, sitting at one of the tables and glaring at an empty beer cup. Alex looked at the check that he seemed to be ignoring and placed on the table the wad of cash that he knew by now to bring.

"We have to go, Thomas. Thomas, look at me. I'm right here."

Jefferson looked over at him. His face looked somewhat confused, almost angry, curls disheveled, though there were no visible injuries anywhere, meaning that he most likely hadn't gotten into another bar fight.

"H-hamilton?"

"Yes, Jefferson, it's me. Now for the love of god,  _stand up!_ We have to go."

"Go away," Jefferson slurred, pulling away from Alex's outstretched arm. "Go away from me. I don't like you."

"And I don't like you," said Alex, willing himself to not show his rising frustration, "but your drunk ass texted me that you needed a ride home. Now  _stand up_ already."

"Fiiiiiiiiiiine." Jefferson stood up on shaky legs, and Alex, now encouraged, wrapped an arm under his armpits and supported him as they walked back to Alex's car.

"Just this once," said Jefferson, now angry for some godforsaken reason, as Alex shoved him into the front passenger seat and buckled him up. "Don't talk to me again. I don't love you."

"And I don't love you, either." On the first night that Jefferson had brought up the topic of love, which was the second night that he had drunkenly texted him, Alex had been surprised, almost  _blushing_ as he got in. Now, he was used to it. He convinced himself that it was nothing more than drunken ramblings, even as he drove and looked over occasionally at the other man and saw his soft smile, even as Alex switched the stick shift to parking in heavy traffic and Jefferson looked at his hand longingly, as if he wanted to touch it with his own, even as the traffic continued for longer than Alex had anticipated and Jefferson fell asleep and drooled and Alex had to wipe it with a tissue and he felt some sort of a feeling that he would never be able to describe, not even in millions of pamphlets.

_Enemies._ That's what they had always been, through loud political debates at the office that turned into arguments about literally anything else. Washington had always tried to break those up, and the entire damn workplace had tried to make them closer to each other so that they would finally shut up, but no one's efforts had ever succeeded.

_Friends._ That was the closest word to what they were now, but it still didn't fit, not by a long shot. He wasn't anywhere close to Laf or Herc or John or the Schuyler sisters, with whom he was always overflowing with words, conversations full of ideas and excitement and happiness. With Jefferson, during these moments when they took a step away from being enemies, there were no words, no rebukes or laughter or even a remark about something weird that was happening outside - and, it being New York, there was  _always_ something weird happening outside. Just silence and the hum of the city, and some shitty pop music playing on the radio (Alex never brought his phone or his aux cord during these late-night drives).

_Boyfriends._ Did Jefferson want them to be boyfriends? Did  _Alex_ want them to be boyfriends? Why was their relationship so complicated? How had this happened? Alex's mind was overflowing with questions, blocking out every single one of his other thoughts, all centering around the curly-haired man in the seat directly to his right.

_Nothing will ever happen between us._ That was his final thought as he stared ahead, now paying attention to nothing else but the cars around him, and how he had to make a right turn in another couple of streets, so he would have to change lanes as soon as he could.

And until he parked his car in Jefferson's driveway and opened the door to guide him back to his bed, he did nothing but drive, and he tried not to think about whatever was happening inside of him.

**Author's Note:**

> the more I stare at it the more I hate it


End file.
